


The Silver Protector and Me

by Damsellefly



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Cats 1998 video, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Cats, Animal Traits, Anthropomorphic, Blood and Gore, Blues, British English, British Slang, Cat behaviour with some human thrown in, Cat/Human Hybrids, Cats, Complicated Relationships, Computers, Crimes & Criminals, Doctor/Patient, Drama & Romance, Epic Battles, F/M, Family, Fight Training, Fights, French Characters, French dialogue, Implied Relationships, London, Magic, Martial Arts, Medical, Most characters are related in some way, Mystery, One Big Happy Family, One Night Stands, Organized Crime, POV Munkustrap, POV Original Character, POV Third Person Limited, Rescue Missions, Rivalry, Rock and Roll, Romance, Sibling Rivalry, Smut, cute cats, fight for love, napoleon of crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-01-21 13:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damsellefly/pseuds/Damsellefly
Summary: Love, fear and rivalry.Held prisoner by evil crimelord Macavity, Jazzimoré despairs of ever seeing freedom again. But when she and three fellow felines are unexpectedly rescued, they find renewed purpose and safety amidst a tribe of mysterious and magical cats. Under the protection of their fearless warrior, the young queen finds love and friendship, but it's only a matter of time before her former captor comes calling, aiming to seek his revenge.18+
Relationships: Bombalurina/Munkustrap (Cats), Bombalurina/Rum Tum Tugger, Demeter/Munkustrap (Cats), Munkustrap (Cats)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing special apart from my OCs.

**Thursday 26th May 1983**

**One year after the Jellicle Ball.**

**Full moon**

_ Rain drifts down like a misted flood, _

_ Soaks the ground with tears of blood, _

_ Decorating lips that have frozen mid breath, _

_ Awaiting the chilling arms of death, _

_ A warrior tired of fighting, sick of being brave, _

_ Of being beaten down like a lowlife slave, _

_ This is his work, but it is no more, _

_ The truth strikes right to the core, _

_ That he's leaving the one who lit the ardent flame, _

_ And with the last of his strength, he calls her name. _


	2. The Tiger of Tybernia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newly updated. Thank you so much Cat0_0 for baetering my work.

**Thursday 19th May 1983**

**First Quarter**

_'Number one rule. Don't think about dying.'- Poseidon Slayan Bluebane._

* * *

A pair of dichroic eyes studied the young Jellicle on the stage, watching her as she danced and sang as part of a quartet.

Like two pools of flaming fire, they sparkled with aqua and gold, his slitted pupils dilating in the dim glow as they momentarily collided with her empyrean gaze, while the words she lamented stirred his emotions as though she were an angel wailing on a lost mountain:

_"Et dès que je l'aperçois... Alors je sens en moi, mon coeur qui bat... La vie..."_

Munkustrap couldn't understand their meaning, but he knew the song La Vie En Rose well enough. It wasn't really to his taste, being much too sentimental. However, the Bossa nova style worked well with her seraphic voice, and after about three minutes, he was quite certain it was the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.

She'd been introduced as Hope Diamond, but he knew that wasn't her real name. It sounded too much like a category. A symbol of her captor's obscene desire to keep her locked up along with his other 'treasures'. Her actual name was Jazzie, and she had been missing, along with the three queens she was dancing with, for over a month.

Now that he had found her, in this underground fight club in the seedy depths of Camden, he'd been watching, waiting for the right moment to act, promising himself not to let her slip through his fingers again.

Concealed in a crowd of anonymous faces, he allowed himself a few moments, taking time to admire every bit of her: the way she moved, imagining what it would be like to have her in his arms. It was risky. Death could pounce on him from anywhere, but he figured it would be worth it if she were the last thing he saw. He only wished she could see him in the same way. Her eyes were on him now. Looking passed him, as though he were invisible.

Beneath the frills of lace and sparkling satin she and the other dancers wore, her fine fur was evident; bearing a mixture of cream and pale fawn, darkening to seal brown points that extended down her arms, legs and tail, and creating a mask that accentuated her Arctic eyes. But there was something unusual about the points.

They were capped with white, the effect as striking as if she were wearing a facial veil with a set of matching gloves and socks.

To her left, a blue and cinnamon Abyssinian was firing up the observers with sultry motions of her body, while, to her right, an Egyptian Mau was doing the same thing, with her sleek, spotted figure boasting a grace unmatched by any. And last, but by no means least, a peridot eyed Korat danced proudly above them all, her bluish coat tipped with a silver lustre that made her appear to shimmer as she swayed to the sensual music.

Like the rest of his kind and all other occupants in the room, they were no ordinary cats. If a human had been there, they would have been perplexed to find the place teeming with furry, four legged felines (and possibly may have questioned their sanity too). But since there were no humans, the mysterious beings felt comfortable in showing their true selves, with human-like bodies and faces, but with the addition of cat-like features and superior senses; able to exist in the world of mankind, without mankind having the faintest idea of their existence.

As the singing merged into a vivacious disco instrumental, Munkustrap's eyes swept the tenebrous room, the weak strobe lights serving to lengthen the shadows rather than banish them. Untroubled by this, he glanced towards the exit, to every guard and anything that looked suspicious. It had become a habit. Constantly being on the alert and looking over his shoulder, and it wasn't unwarranted. One could never be too careful in a job where as many people wanted you dead as alive.

Spotting his comrades, he was relieved to see them attentive, keeping low profiles in different areas of the club, their eyes trained on him, waiting for him to give the signal. Admetus, Plato and George had found themselves corner tables and booths. Alonzo was by the bar, seeming to be getting his first taste of Scotch. Munkustrap knew it had been a mistake to bring him along, but it was too late now.

Although the operation had been meticulously planned, he was plagued with worries that were familiar with all conspirators. What if Bombalurina failed to hold the attention of the club owner, Macavity, and he came back early? What if he knew about the plans and Munkustrap had simply blundered into an elaborate trap? What if the decision to bring his son along had been flawed? Granted, the lad was keen, not to mention a fine warrior, but he was young and had a tendency to be reckless. If Victor hadn't broken his leg, he'd have come instead.

Perhaps he ought to have brought Mistoffelees? He had considered it. But if Macavity found out about the young magician's powers, he would become the object of his desire, something that would make him unstoppable. If the Crime Lord ever got hold of him… Munkustrap shuddered to think of it. He wouldn't put his younger son in danger.

_"I know you're thinking about me, Dad. Regretting your decision?"_

Mistoffelees' voice echoed in his mind, making him jump. It was like having someone whisper in your ear. "_No,"_ he replied. "_And I told you not to contact me like this. It gives me a headache."_

_"I promise to be brief. As you know, I'm following proceedings from where I am. All seems well at Bombi's end-"_

_"Thank you. I'd rather not have details-"_

_"AND I'm ready to offer help when you need it-"_

_"And I told YOU- wait, what do you mean, when? I can't risk you being seen, Misto. I mean it! It's bad enough having Alonzo here."_

_"I think it's unfair you let him go and not me."_

_"This isn't the time to start accusing me of favouritism."_

_"You're going to find it hard getting out without my help- just saying."_

Munkustrap thought about it. _"I'll call you if I need to- but only if there's no alternative."_

_"Stay safe then, Dad."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"You know perfectly well."_

The connection went dead, Munkustrap rubbed his temples through the hood of his robe, carefully carrying out another scan of the room, heavy with the smell of cigarettes, stale alcohol and cheap perfume. Getting in had been easy enough. Getting out with four stolen queens was going to prove rather more tricky. Boards covered the ground floor windows and the basement had no windows at all. Guards were everywhere, securing the only available exit, while others were wandering aimlessly about the fairly spacious chamber.

His head snapped up at the sound of whistles and hoots. The performance had reached its finale. He thought it unusual to see a burlesque performer singing, but Macavity was never one to follow the rules. Queens, violence and gambling. Three of the Crime Lord's favourite things, and he wasn't short of money nor influence with which to indulge his passions.

And there she was, the chanteuse, moving with fluidity and not a single note off-key.

Too soon, the performance was over, and Munkustrap's thoughts focused back on the current problem, which he had still yet to solve. He hadn't told his comrades that. As far as they were concerned, he had everything under control. He didn't want to think about the loss of morale should they realise their leader had no idea what he was doing. If he could somehow get the queens out without having to fight, that would be ideal. He just couldn't think of another way.

Still pondering his next move, he watched Jazzie leave the stage, drifting into the crowd... away from him.

Well, he couldn't have _that._

Placing two fingers into his mouth, he whistled as hard as he could, causing her to look up, see him waving and slink towards him, every movement deliberate and purposeful.

"Good evening. How can I help you?"

He smiled back as though one would a dear friend. Her voice was sweet, softly accented by her native french tongue. The sort that brought a smile to one's lips and brightened the most leaden of skies. But her eyes, though radiant, were empty- and he couldn't curb a sudden pang of disappointment. She clearly didn't remember their first meeting.

It happened two months ago- he remembered it so clearly. He'd been standing on the corner, watching her hurry to an appointment. With her bag overflowing and fur in disarray, it had been endearing to see her so focused; so flustered. In fact, she'd been so fixated on getting to her destination that she'd walked straight into him.

"Pardon-! I'm so sorry- I didn't see you!"

So remorseful, even though it was he who'd caught her arm to stop her from falling. He couldn't remember what he'd said. Something like, "Not at all. It was I who was at fault- in the way, as usual." That seemed like the sort of gormless thing he'd say.

She'd given a smile. Slightly apologetic as if to say, "I'd love to stay and chat, but I really have to go now, sorry bye." And just like that, she'd disappeared into the crowd.

Looking at her, it took him every ounce of restraint not to gather her into his embrace and tell her everything would be ok and that he was there to save her from this hell hole and give her the life that she deserved.

But he couldn't do that. One touch and the guards would be onto him like hyenas to a kill. His cover would be blown and she would be stuck here forever.

No. He would have to go through the motions. Do what she expected and hope she had the sense to cooperate.

"How much for a dance?" He asked.

Not able to hear over the music and drunken chatter, she leaned down and swivelled her ear towards him. "Sorry, what was that?"

"How much for a dance?"

"Ten pounds for a three minute tease, two hundred for an hour," she answered automatically, giving him an impenetrable smile that was too wooden to be genuine and belayed the despair she must have been feeling.

He handed her a twenty pound note. "Make it six."

"Thank you." She tucked the money into a purse, and began her dance, letting her body twist and sway, moving fluidly with the sultry rhythm of the music and giving him the odd suggestive brush with her tail.

Alonzo was staring at him, the look on his face clearly communicating, 'What the Hell are you playing at?'

Munk winked back. All part of the ruse. After all, _you'd_ look like the strange one if you were in a strip club not interested in what it was offering. But, tempting as it was, he was determined not to get sucked into staring at the vision before him. It was all rather pointless, if one thought about it rationally. Paying good money to watch a beautiful queen wiggle her rear in front of you, and you weren't even allowed to touch. It was like being given a bowl of the finest tuna and told you weren't allowed to eat it.

He sat forward, sensing her cringe as he spoke, either from disgust or fear. Both grieved him greatly. "Could you tell me the rules on private dances? From what I hear they are somewhat... avant-garde?"

She answered in her sultry, but emotionally detached voice, filled with a false cheer that neither of them felt. "At eleven o'clock, the fighting will begin. Whoever beats all opponents gets their pick of girls for free. People place bets on who will win."

"Seems a little..." He wanted to say 'fucked up' but instead used the word "Depraved?" And could practically see her mind racing, wondering who this patron was and why he would say such a thing if he intended to fight. Surely, that was why he was there?

"Toms like to fight. Boss likes to watch fights while making money. It's win win," she said, as though that were obvious.

"But not for you."

She lost her rhythm for a second. "I am very happy to be working here, thank you for asking," she declared with only the slightest tremble in her voice, and he wondered what kind of terror kept her facade from slipping entirely. It was time to come clean.

"I know you're not happy, Jazzie. I know that you're a doctor and that you're being forced to work here. It's only a matter of time before the humans bust this place- I can get you out before that happens-"

"Stop talking or they'll hear you!" She whispered harshly. "And my name is Hope!"

"We both know that's not true. I can get you out without them noticing- you just have to trust me." To his relief, she had the good grace to keep her head and play along.

"What must I do?"

"Answer my questions. The private rooms- how many exits are there?"

"One in each."

"Any others down here?"

"No- only the stairwell. There are two fire exits upstairs, but they are heavily guarded."

He cursed under his breath.

Another flash towards his comrades. They seemed to have taken the initiative and had attracted the attention of the other ladies, from the looks of things, having similar conversations. Munkustrap was happy to see the Korat taking good care of Alonzo by the bar and that he hadn't touched the Scotch.

All of a sudden, a frightful screech rent the air, causing every cat in the vicinity to flinch.

In such a noisy place, preserving one's sensitive hearing was paramount, so every cat had taken the precaution of wearing ear plugs, much the same as humans do with sunglasses in Summertime. But even so, the assault on one's eardrums was exceptionally painful, and there were many angry complaints.

"I have to go!" Jazzie cried, and rushed off into the crowd.

He watched where she went, and his heart rate sped up.

Cats had gathered around an octagonal cage in the centre of the room, the air charged with expectation. Inside, an all black tom, whom Munkustrap understood was Lawrence, the club organiser, was speaking into the microphone that had been the cause of the screech. He also saw Jazzie standing to the side with her small group, all armed with simple medical kits.

"Good evening, everybody. Welcome to Sophisticat's and thank you for coming to Hellclaw- London's number one fighting event. It is time to show us your skills and find out who is the city's strongest fighter!" Amidst the cheering, Lawrence continued. "First up tonight, we have a local fellow. Hello, sir. Tell us your name?"

"Hector," was the reply, and Munkustrap saw that the announcer had been joined by a second cat. A dilute grey with shaggy fur, whom Munkustrap recognised from a large v-shaped scar on his arm as one of the Vandals, an infamous Camden gang.

"Hector- we know you're from around here, you're a regular- but for those who don't know, what is your weight?"

"Seventy three kilos," Hector replied confidently. "I've had two fights and as yet I am unbeaten. I've come here to crush my challengers and defend my title."

Lawrence raised his voice. "Seventy three kilos of unbeaten muscle, ladies and gentletoms. Who thinks they can take on the might that is Hector the Camden Vandal? The winner gets an hour with four beautiful ladies, you see them just there- give us a wave, ladies- for free, plus a grand prize of fifty three pounds and seventy five pence. Come on! Who's tom enough?"

Alonzo was about to stand up, but Munkustrap beat him to it, directing him to sit back down with a menacing glare. It had already been decided, after much protesting, that _he_ would fight. Him being the most experienced, the oldest and, in his logic, the most expendable.

_"You_ Sir?" Called Lawrence. "Come on over!"

Walking to the cage was like trudging through sand in lead boots. His legs didn't want to move and his body was gripped with an overwhelming sense of sinking into something cold and viscose. If he stopped to think about the situation, he would have descended into despair- that he was about to get pummeled by violent thugs and somehow had to keep enough of his faculties to battle his way out with four queens _and_ his comrades, and then get them safely back to Jellicle Manor. It seemed like a perfectly executed suicide mission.

Paws caught hold of him and pulled off his cloak, bodies shifted to let him pass. He kept his feelings hidden, as displaying any kind of emotion would be seen as a weakness. Instead, he kept his eyes on Jazzie, whose face was a perfect mirror for how he felt, mixed with horror and disbelief. But from the way her lips were parted slightly, he could tell she liked what she saw. It wasn't much, but it was enough to boost his courage.

"Good evening, sir," greeted the black cat when he entered the cage via a small door. "Tell us your name."

Munkustrap stood on his right side, opposite Hector, and replied, "I'd rather not."

"Then, do you mind if we call you the Silver Tiger?"

Munkustrap shifted nervously from one foot to the other and expressed that he didn't. Although at times like these, he felt it would help if he were less distinguishable. As if his shining silver fur would allow for _that._ With bold black stripes and a tall, muscular build, he was used to turning heads, so the fact that no one had twigged his identity was nothing short of miraculous.

"Where're you from?"

"Tybernia," he answered.

"And what is your weight?"

"Last I checked it was around seventy eight."

"Kilos?"

"Yup."

"No worries. Done any fighting before?"

"A bit." Munkustrap snatched a glance at his opponent. It was clear he fought for a living. Under his scraggly pelt, his body was lean, his musculature a symbol of his life on the street. It was something they both had in common, except Munkustrap had lived half his life with the comfort of a human home.

"Let's hear it for The Tiger of Tybernia!" Cried Lawrence- who, it turned out, was also the referee. "Cats placing bets- the guards are coming round to collect your money. Have it ready, please. Do you both have mouth guards?"

Munkustrap held his up, one that was not exactly brand new, but would do the job.

"You'll need to remove the belt." Lawrence looked sternly at the rivet studded garment that Munkustrap had almost forgotten about- which was just as well, seeing as the pockets contained a few important items: his wallet and his door key. "The collar too," he added, once Munkustrap had started to remove it.

After thrusting the item into Admetus's trustworthy paws, Munkustrap quickly undid the matching leather around his throat and handed that over too- albeit reluctantly. He hardly ever took it off, and his neck felt horribly exposed without it; which was ironic, since he had loathed having to wear it at one time.

"Good luck, guv," Admetus whispered encouragingly. "I'll guard these with me life, I swear. Don't die on us, eh?" He winked and scuttled out of the cage.

"You know the rules?" Lawrence went on. "No claws, no teeth, no eye pokes. No blows to the temple or spine- no shots below the belt. Have respect for one another and fight fair. If someone shouts "stop!", taps out or falls unconscious, the fight is over. There's no time limit. Now- touch paws."

They did.

"To your corners."

Another surge of fear. Munkustrap stuffed the latex into his mouth and stepped back. Hector did the same.

"When you're ready- FIGHT!"

A calm descended over Munkustrap. No longer able to hear the crowd, he focused on what was in front of him. The paw coming towards him. A chink in the other's guard. A mistake for him to gain advantage.

There was a short tussel. A couple of strikes to the head and Hector staggered back. He took a couple of drunken steps to the side and fell over, his eyes rolling.

Medics hurried in, the Abyssinian and the Egyptian Mau (who had been introduced as Ruby and Silvia, though Munkustrap was sure those weren't their real names.) They dabbed at Hector's nose, checking his head for injuries and tried to get him to stand up.

Finally, he was helped to his feet by the referee and stood in the centre of the cage, looking quite dazed.

"We have a winner!" Hailed Lawrence, raising Munkustrap's arm, but Munkustrap couldn't help feeling it wasn't much of a victory. Even though he knew the whole point of fighting had nothing to do with glory, his blood was pumping and he'd geared himself up for a full scale battle- which he hadn't received.

After shaking paws with him, Hector stumbled out of the cage and headed to one of the booths, probably for a lie down, and amid the cheering, Munkustrap couldn't resist sneaking another peek at Jazzie. She had her paws pressed to her mouth. It seemed that fighting wasn't really her thing.

"The fight was over in less than a minute," Lawrence was commending. "A fast fight. You have good skill, sir. Are there any challengers for this talented fighter? Are you going to let him take all the ladies for himself? Come on! Who's up for it!"

The second fighter wasn't much different to the first. A nondescript street scrapper from Daganham with a missing tail and no real skill, apart from blind fury and nothing else to lose.

Munkustrap defeated him with relative ease, though the battle went on for much longer. Despite his brazen attitude, the scrapper was no match for a Maine Coon descendant who simply held him in a choke hold until he was forced to tap out. The second victory left Munkustrap with a distinct sense of unease. Things were going well. Too well. And he didn't have to wait long before his misgivings were answered.

The behemoth entered the cage, seeming to fill a large portion of it. Proud muscles and short fur the colour of burnt charcoal, Munkustrap heard him being introduced as, "Tesslar, The Lion of Luxor." Part wild cat, he'd fought his way across Europe to be there that night. Fifty fights under his belt. As yet, undefeated. "Who will be victorious?" Lawrence went on. "Will it be our champion, the Tiger of Tybernia? Or will it be The Lion of Luxor? Odds are even, folks!"

The crowd roared. They didn't really care about who won as long as they got their money's worth, and Munkustrap would have given anything to have been cheering along with them. Jazzie was watching proceedings through the gaps in her fingers.

"Touch paws. To your corners. When you're ready, FIGHT!"

Once again, Munkustrap entered a kind of trance. A primal vision of ugliness and violence with an uncontrollable urge to kill. He stuck a blow. It was like hitting a lump of iron. The counter attack came soon after.

Munkustrap felt his teeth rattle and was grateful for the cushion of latex. True to his ancestry, Tesslar was ferocious and unrelenting. Every blow was precise, quicker than the eye could blink and as forceful as a cudgel.

Munkustrap fought back with everything he had. The only thing he cared about was getting to the next moment and staying alert. After a while, he didn't even feel the pain.

He was resting against the mesh, biting down on the guard as he struggled for breath. Someone was dabbing his nose. He tasted blood. They tended to his bottom lip and whispered something. It sounded like, "Don't give up." Then the fight began again.

He saw the mesh sailing towards him. He thought it a little strange, until the metal collided with his face and realised it was _he_ who had been sailing towards _it._ He found himself on the floor, being crushed by a dead weight and pounded simultaneously.

He could hear the crowd screaming. Individual voices coming to him. Shouts of "Hit him! Go on! Hit him!"

He heard Jazzie calling. Her accent was easy to recognise over the din. "Get up! Get up!"

Then Alonzo joined in. "Use your knees!" He bellowed. "Your knees!"

The command was like an electric charge, inciting his body to react. His knee impacted with ribs. He heard the air hiss from his opponent and felt the weight slacken, allowing him to roll on top.

He smashed a fist into the tom's jaw. Then another. He kept hitting. He almost didn't register that his opponent had stopped struggling and the referee was calling him off.

He looked at the bloody mess underneath him, feeling numb and a little sick. He'd won, but the realisation was far from sweet.

Hoots and groans filled the room as Munkustrap and Tesslar helped each other to their feet. The referee raised Munkustrap's arm for the final time, shouting, "Winner!"

He handed him a thin wad of cash- plus three pounds and seventy five pence in change- and asked if he'd like to say a few words.

In his fuddled state, Munkustrap couldn't think of anything apart from getting the Hell out of there. He mumbled a customary "Thank you" for the spectators' support and that he (Tesslar) had been "a great fighter" and after that, they both hugged it out. Through some unwritten code, they were now brothers, and under any other circumstance, Munkustrap would have happily bought him a drink. Except there was no time to consolidate what might have been a beautiful, life long friendship.

The queens tended to them, checking for breaks and mopping blood from noses and mouths, and then someone took the money and his distinctly chewed mouthguard and reunited him with his collar and utility belt. After helping him put them on, they dragged him from the cage, leading him towards one of the private rooms. His stomach gave a lurch. Once inside, there would be no escape.

He looked down at the paw holding his and realised it was Jazzie's. The queens were flashing each other glances and then looking at him. Clearly, they'd been informed about the plan and were waiting for him to do something- not knowing he'd already done it. A curious flick of his tail and his comrades knew what to do.

Looking around, he saw Alonzo, Plato, Admetus and George had lost their cloaks and moved into position. Alonzo's black and white form was boldly visible at his left side. Plato, the Turkish Van, on the right; white and brown tabbies Admetus and George were watching his back. "When you're ready, guv," Admetus muttered.

Munkustrap gripped Jazzie's paw tightly and stopped, realising she and her friends were all holding paws as though their lives depended on it. "Get ready to run," he said softly. "Stick close, whatever happens."

His eyes closed for a moment and rubbed his forehead, pretending to have a headache. He felt a familiar pull as his mind connected with someone else's. _"Misto? You know that help I said I wouldn't need? Now would be good!"_

_"Told you," _came the rather smug reply. _"Shut your eyes."_

"Close your eyes!" Munkustrap shouted, and immediately after, the room was filled with a blinding flash as though a shaft of lightning had bolted through the ceiling.

"Run!" He barked and they all charged towards the staircase, knocking over chairs and shoving blinded cats aside.

"They're escaping! Get em!"

A guard intercepted them. A blast of energy shot from Munkustrap's paw and hit him in the chest, and he flew into the wall. Another lunged from the other side, but was attacked by George and both rolled out of sight.

Munkustrap reached the stairs. He still had hold of Jazzie and wouldn't let go for anything. Halfway up, the alarm went off and two guards piled towards them. A yank of the leader's leg sent him tumbling down the stairs, into the path of another guard coming up. In a few swift movements, he disabled the second and sent him plummeting over the railing, while the queens dwelt the first savage kicks to his tomhood to ensure he didn't try to grab them.

Munkustrap was pleased to see they weren't defenseless. Especially that Korat, who's name, apparently, was Sapphire. Her claws left deep gashes in the guard's cheek and she certainly knew where to direct her feet.

They fought their way to the first floor. Munkustrap could see the exit in front of him, but three huge bouncers made it impenetrable, so he turned and headed for the nearest fire door. Three more guards swooped upon them, seeming to come from nowhere. Munkustrap knocked two of them aside like chess pieces. The third he slammed into the fire door, forcing him out of it. The entire party stumbled after him onto the pavement, only to be greeted by wailing sirens and flashing blue lights.

"The Fuzz!" Yelled Alonzo. "Leg it!"

"Wait! Where's George?" Cried Plato.

"Can't go back!" Bellowed Admetus. "The guards are onto us!"

They had no choice but to run.

Blinded by panic, they dodged passed the men in dark blue uniforms, causing them to shout out in surprise- but before the human officers could make sense of the jets of fur darting past them, they were long gone.

With their padded feet sailing over the wet concrete, the fugitives streaked past a war obelisk like a bunch of fleeing rabbits. Glancing back, Munkustrap spotted a number of dark shapes not far behind- though it was hard to tell how many there were. "We're being followed!" He panted, praying the queens wouldn't lose their nerve and scatter for the nearby trees. "Got to… shake them off... follow Alonzo!" Alonzo was in front, leading the way through a carefully planned route.

Rain plastered faces and dripped from fur as they skittered down never ending roads- keeping to the shadows wherever they could, only emerging to cross thoroughfares and cut through private gardens- setting dogs barking and people complaining about "bloody cats!" 

Finally, the worn out felines made it to Regent's Park, with its promise of seclusion and shelter. The plan had been to stop near the playground and get their breath back under the cover of the trees, for everyone was panting heavily, and three of the queens were close to collapse. 

But sadly, their hopes of restbite were all but trodden into the sodden ground when rabid yowls suddenly reached their ears, growing louder with every terror filled moment, and they had no choice other than to drive their tired legs onwards.

"Keep going!" Munkustrap called when he noticed the queens struggling.

Jazzie could barely breathe. "HOW much... further?" She panted.

"Keep going!" He repeated more firmly, fully prepared to bite those lagging tails if need be. Anything to keep them just ahead of their pursuers as they finally crossed over the Park's Outer Circle and pelted it across a busy main road, narrowly avoiding the traffic.

It was hoped that that would put an end to the chase, or at least bide them time, but sadly not.

There was a lull. In the absence of cars, they saw the dark shapes crossing over the road, heading straight towards them. And now, there was nowhere left to run.

Like wildebeest at a river crossing, the group gathered nervously at the edge of this new obstacle: a wide gash of cement, steel and gravel; barren and devoid of cover apart from a few meagre clumps of moss clinging to cracks in the paving.

"I thought you said you'd planned the route?" Alonzo complained.

"I had to change the plan at short notice," Munkustrap grimly replied. "Besides- according to Skimble, this line is usually quiet and is not electrified. We should be-"

"-Er… Munk…" Admetus interrupted. "What shall we do about _ them?" _

By _ them, _ he meant the hulking shapes looming out of the darkness towards them. As they took up position in a shaft of lamplight, Munkustrap suddenly recognised the bouncers he'd hoped to avoid earlier, complete thickset forms and dark, scraggly fur. They were growling threateningly and lashing their tails, knowing they had their quarry cornered.

"What shall we do wiv 'em, Mesoleutha?" Snuffered one. 

The largest of them regarded the cornered gathering with a single eye; the other being nothing more than a fleshy socket, as though they were a collection of carcasses hanging from a butcher's rack. He casually flexed his claws, displaying where his right fore-digit ought to have been, had been replaced by a glinting blade which was cruelly hooked, much like a sickle. "Seize the queens," he ordered. "Boss wants them alive. Kill the rest."

"I hate to disappoint you gentlemen," Munkustrap answered, hoping to bide some time. "But I'm afraid that won't be happening."

Mesoleutha stopped, apparently incapable of doing several things at once: walking AND talking. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Don't know. Just get the sense that your brain isn't up to it."

At that, the other bruisers glanced at one another, their eyes narrowing. "Wha's 'ee sayin', Steelo?"

"Dunno. I fink 'ee just called you stoopid, Grimmel."

Munkustrap could sense the queens fidgeting behind him- at least one of them was trembling. Alonzo, Plato and Admetus however seemed to suss that he had a plan- or rather, hoped- and moved closer to listen to him.

"Take the queens across the tracks and back to the Manor," he whispered, never taking his eyes off the guards. "Don't wait for me-"

But Alonzo was shaking his head. "No... _N__o _fucking way!"

Munkustrap bared his teeth. "Don't argue!"

This was no time for disagreements. Alonzo looked shocked by his anger, and right he should! Munkustrap was about ready to cuff him for his disobedience. 

"I'll fight with you!" Alonzo pleaded, and Munkustrap hesitated for a moment. He understood the look Alonzo was giving him: worry, as well as a desperation to prove himself- but now was not the time.

"And if they kill us both and go after the queens, who will protect them?" He asked. "Lead them to safety- go the long way round if you have to!" 

Without waiting for a reply, Munkustrap turned his attention to the advancing reprobates and purposefully stepped in front of them- the pearly hints of his claws protruding from his fingertips. "If you want them, you'll have to go through me," he challenged, and the guards stopped again, seemingly astounded by his boldness (and stupidity). 

As the sky increased its deluge, Mesoleutha's single eye swept over Munkustrap, and his ogre-like features moulded into a grotesque sneer. "You honestly think you can take on the MOG's, do you?" He mocked. "Single pawed? You're only delaying the inevitable. Once I tear out your insides, I'm going to do the same to your friends."

"Must be very boring," Munkustrap replied. "Standing by a door all night. Long hours. Low pay. What do you do to pass the time? Talk to it?"

Mesoleutha gave a nasty cackle. "You've a generous bounty on your head, Munkustrap," he rasped. "With Boss desiring it to decorate his wall, killing you would make me well off indeed." 

"You're welcome to try," Munkustrap growled.

"Indeed, I shall." 

On his signal, Mesoleutha's myrmidons surged forth, aiming to flay their target where he stood. But Munkustrap met them halfway. Clearing the ground faster than the eye can blink, he slammed his knee into the first and smashed the jaw of a second, knocking him out cold. Then he stood back, ready to face the leader.

Snarling at how easily his fighters had been put on their arses, Mesoleutha readily charged, slicing his deadly rigged paw towards Munkustrap- who, in an oddly meditative sangfroid, jarred the offending arm with a lightning parry, then grabbed his assailant's wrist and sent him nose diving into a gritty puddle. With claws fully extended, he was about to deliver a killing blow- when his throat tightened. 

Choking and gasping, he was yanked backwards, frantically grabbing hold of his collar to try to loosen the garrotte, while Mesoleutha lurched to his feet like an animated wet rag, madly swinging his weapon, sending it zipping metallically through the air as though it were some kind of angry wasp.

In desperation, Munkustrap kicked his legs out, pitching his attacker over his shoulder and- as luck would have it- into the path of the blade.

Cursing, Mesoleutha tore the hook from the dead cat's chest and shoved the body to the side, before plowing on like a rampaging bear, slashing this way and that, while Munkustrap ducked and dived, until finally, the object was poised, barely an inch from his heart. Both cats grimaced as Mesoleutha forced it down, while Munkustrap held it back. His arm shook. His breath was ragged. 

The blade pushed against his fur. It sliced into his skin and he heard himself scream.


	3. Screaming Metal

The tom addressed as Alonzo urged the party onwards, leading the way across the ballast. But Jazzie held back, a knot forming in her stomach.

As much as the leader had given the order to go on without him, she just couldn't bring herself to leave him to his fate. It didn't seem right.

Guilt and terror gnawed at her insides as she wavered between following her friends and helping the brave tom who had risked everything to get her and her friends out of that awful club, where they'd been forced to work against their will and paraded about like attractive curiosities. But how could she help?

The sounds of fighting were nauseating: flesh slamming against flesh and bones cracking, toms grunting and gasping as they tore at each other- and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop it. She couldn't even pluck up the courage to look.

Any minute now, the fighting would cease and the unimaginable would become a reality- and as though to answer her fears, a shriek suddenly rent the night air, sounding like a tortured spirit screaming from the pits of Hell.

"Keep going!" Shouted Plato, as Alonzo turned to look back, his spiked tail swaying to and fro.

"But- we can't just leave him!" Alonzo cried.

"Those were the orders-!"

"Fuck the orders- he's my father! What if he's hurt?!

"It's not safe to linger here!" Warned Admetus, as all of a sudden, there came an even more dreadful sound.

They all heard it. A high-pitched hiss, that at first had a semblance to wind rustling through leaves- except that there _was_ no wind, and certainly no trees for it to rustle through. It was coming from the rails, gradually building into a singing ring that sounded as though the metal itself had come to life and was screaming in terror at what was thundering towards them.

"Train!" Yelled Plato, and the cats all fled towards the other side… except Jazzie.

She started to run- but tripped and fell onto the tracks. She tried to drag herself to safety, but even the smallest movement was agony- and then, the sound of a thousand screaming banshees blasted her eardrums.

"I don't want to die!" She cried, but there was nothing she could do. She threw back her head and screamed into the dark. She howled and wailed like some tormented creature… but no one could hear her over the roar of machinery.

Realising her fate was sealed, she stopped screaming and screwed her eyes shut, just as something slammed into her...

For a moment she was lifted off the ground, flying in slow motion... then the gravel came up to meet her and she smashed into it, just as the screaming metal hurtled by, passing barely inches from her. She had seen and heard plenty of trains, but never had she been so close to one moving at such speed. The noise was louder than a thousand thunderstorms and she thought she would die from fear alone.

As quickly as it arrived, it was gone; fading to a soft 'shush' like the wind, the mournful blast of its horn echoing in the distance. In this comparative stillness, Jazzie stirred, slowly coming to the realisation that she wasn't dead. The thudding inside her chest and the ringing of her ears let her know that. Then she realised she was lying on something extremely jagged and uncomfortable, and that someone was holding her. She could feel his heart racing alongside hers; his hot, heavy breath hitting her cheek.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, sounding just as relieved and incredulous that they were both still alive as she was. "You know it's never a good idea to stand in front of trains, right?"

As he uncurled his arms, she found herself unable to breathe. Being a doctor, she knew she'd been winded and that she should stay calm and try to take long slow breaths and not try to talk, but following one's own advice was harder in practice. She felt him place a paw on her back. It had an oddly calming effect.

"My foot…" she managed weakly, and turned around, not knowing what she was going to see- half expecting to see a ghost.

He may not have been, but it was hard to believe looking at the individual who crouched before her. His fur was plastered against his body- iron grey and sodden with grime and rain; blood from his opponents creating a gory mask on his handsome face, making him look more like a tattered demon who had escaped from the Abyss.

"You're hurt," she said dumbly, her eyes drawn to the cut above his eyebrow- then to a more ominous stain leaking through his chest fur.

"Scratches," he said dismissively, as though describing something mildly irritating- like a flea bite. "Which foot is troubling you?"

She pointed to her right one, which he quickly examined, his untrained eye searching for anything obvious that might indicate a broken bone- appearing not to notice that she was staring.

To say he was a mess was an understatement. His face was puffy and his ear was sporting several notches, but that wasn't what initially struck her about his appearance. Most silver tabbies had a lot of white in their fur, especially the paws. What made him unique was that the lower half of his legs _ and _ his paws were a deep shade of charcoal- almost black- as though he'd stepped in a pile of soot and tried to dust it off himself. 

Seeming to sense that he was being scrutinized, he suddenly glanced up, and all at once she was captured by eyes that seemed to see right through to her soul. It was the oddest feeling. She didn't think anyone had ever looked at her like that before… apart from maybe one, but that was a different feeling entirely.

She shivered as she thought of her captor and quickly tore her eyes from the silver tom- pretending to be more interested in her foot. She was relieved to see it didn't look deformed. There was no evidence of injury that she could see, but that didn't account for the pain.

"It doesn't look broken," he said after about a minute, but he didn't sound certain. "Once we get you back to the Manor, someone will be there to take a look. In the meantime, let's get you off the tracks before another train comes. Can you bear weight on it?"

"I-I'm not sure."

She had a feeling she was going to regret testing it out. And sure enough, the second she placed her foot on the ground, pain lanced through it, nearly taking her breath away.

"It's alright, I've got you." He caught her as she stumbled, his deep voice reassuring despite her anxiety, wondering how she was going to manage with such an injury.

"Try not to put weight on it," he advised, letting her hop awkwardly back towards the scene of the fight, supporting her with an arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

Pain clouded her thoughts. She didn't even care that he was soaking wet and getting blood on her, and that it was raining and cold and she was shivering and longed to be somewhere warm and dry. But she did wonder why they were heading in the wrong direction. "Er, Monsieur? Sorry... I-I do not know your name."

"Munkustrap."

"Munkustrap. Why are we going back?"

He was busy searching, scanning the edge of the tracks for something.

"Neither of us were obliterated, that's all that matters," he said, his eyes landing on the item he'd been apparently searching for. "The same can't be said for Old Leutha."

"Leutha?"

"He was chasing me. I think the train got him."

Jazzie followed his gaze to a grisly object lying close to the rail, and felt bile rise in her throat. She was used to seeing blood, but a dismembered paw with a blade still attached to it was enough to turn anyone's stomach. The bodies of the other guards lay on the ground nearby, but there was no further trace of Mesoleutha. Her mind struggled to piece together what had happened. Surely Munkustrap should have been dead too?

"I heard you screaming…" she said.

He looked at her sideways. "That was you. Wasn't it?"

She was even more confused. Yes, she _had_ been screaming- as any normal person would if _they'd_ had a train hurtling towards them- but she was certain she'd heard another. That blood curdling cry wouldn't be easily forgotten.

"I could've sworn it was you," he said. "It startled Mesoleutha. If it _hadn't..."_ He broke off.

"I mean... I _was_ screaming," she explained. "But there was another scream I heard before. It sounded like a tom. I thought it was you."

"No. It wasn't me. I'd have known if it was." His frown deepened, his prominent brows practically knitting together.

"Then, if it wasn't_-?"_

"Jazzie! Jazzie, thank Bast you're alright!"

An overly relieved Korat almost bowled her over, capturing her in a hug that threatened to crush her ribs. "Are you hurt?" She demanded. "Bat of Hell, when we saw you weren't with us…!"

"Sachara…" Jazzie gasped. "I'm fine- honest…"

The rest of her sentence was lost in a flurry of agitated sniffing, meowing and nuzzling as the Abyssinian and the Mau suddenly joined in, reassuring themselves that she was ok in a way that cats readily do.

"Sachara, Lucitana... _Norstara!"_ She called, finally getting free of them. "I'm fine. It's just my foot."

The Korat shook her head, the panic of nearly losing her still evident. "Fuck, Jazz! You could've been killed!"

"I nearly was. But this tom…" Jazzie stopped when she realised he was no longer beside her and had to grab onto Lucitana's reddish fur to stop herself from falling.

She saw him over by the three toms, who, having followed the queens, were now gathered around something lying on the ground.

Jazzie held onto Lucitana and Sachara for support as they drew closer, realising, with an awful sinking feeling, who it was. The brown and white tabby- although he wasn't very white now. He was covered in blood, coming from a particularly nasty wound on his neck. How he'd managed to drag himself all the way from the club was anyone's guess.

Munkustrap crouched beside him and picked up his limp paw, clearly at a loss of what to do. Wincing, Jazzie knelt on the other side and tried to staunch the wound using her palm, but she could tell it was hopeless. His pulse was barely detectable. He'd lost too much blood.

"'Ello, Munk…" the tabby rasped weakly, trying to sound cheerful in spite of his predicament.

"George… " Munkustrap struggled for words, and only by chance, voiced the question they all wanted to know. "How in Bast's name did you get out?"

The tom attempted a grin, his lips barely moved. "Misto... lightning… up 'is jaxy… dunno how I got out... just did... Followed you... saw that _pollicle_ about to stick ya... had to do something..."

"You saved my life, George." Munkustrap's voice sounded heavy, almost breaking- and suddenly, Jazzie realised. It was _George_ who had screamed.

"As you would me... I'm sure," he whispered, and Munkustrap's face clouded with self disgust.

"... I left you behind."

"Don't take it to 'eart, bud... knew it was for the... greater good. It don't matter no more..."

"Don't talk like that, Georgie!" Admetus suddenly pleaded. "We're gonna get you back. Jelly and Jenny'll fix you up. You'll be right as rain-"

He was cut off by George coughing up a spume of blood. He gasped... and when finally able to speak, his voice was barely a whisper. "Thank Ruby for... the dance... would've liked to've... shown her my moves... but... there we are."

The smile left George's face. As his head rolled to the side, as his eyes grew fixed and empty, Lucitana slipped a paw into Nostara's and squeezed it tightly, sniffing back tears- and Jazzie knew why.

Although they had been badly treated by the club owner, most of the clients had been perfectly ordinary cats who simply wanted some company. It was sometimes hard not to build up a relationship, especially with some of the friendlier regulars. Although a stranger to her, it seemed that George had been one of those toms. His lively smile had been one that was easily noticeable and would be hard to forget.

It was easy to see that Munkustrap and his comrades had just suffered an immense loss. They were all frozen in shock and for long moments, nobody said anything.

Finally, Munkustrap pulled himself together to make a decision. "We need to get the queens back to the yard," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "We should decide who is to carry George."

"I'll carry 'im, Munk," said Admetus. "I-I want to. Ee's me brother, after all."

Munkustrap nodded understandingly and turned to Jazzie. "I'll carry you on my back, if you have no objections?"

_He? Carry her? Didn't he realise how injured he was? _Jazzie was about to open her mouth to reply, but had barely drawn breath when Alonzo voiced his opinion. "Dad, you're injured!" He argued. "You should let me do it!"

Munkustrap gave his son a hard look. "Perhaps it should be Jazzie who decides that?"

"Um…"

Munkustrap looked sharply at Jazzie and she shifted awkwardly.

"Maybe Alonzo is right," she said, as gently as she could. "I mean… as you're... that's if you don't…"

"I don't mind either way," Munkustrap replied, sounding a little impatient. "It's settled then. Alonzo shall carry you."

But before Alonzo could get within a foot of Jazzie, Sachara stepped in front of _him._ "Don't worry, I'll do it," she said, jutting out her chin. "I'm strong enough."

"Sach- are you _sure?"_ Jazzie looked dubious. Sachara was only slightly taller than she was.

"Of course I'm sure! Get on!" Sachara snapped.

Alonzo looked as though he'd just been swiped across the face, but quickly hid his annoyance behind a series of gruff shrugs. It was clear he wasn't about to argue with the assertive Korat, and Jazzie didn't blame him, for Sachara had already proven herself to be quite the tigress. Nevertheless, Jazzie couldn't help feeling like she'd upset Munkustrap in some way, for he didn't look at her again. Of course, his friend had just died- his mood had _nothing_ to do with _her..._ at least... that was what she tried to remind herself-

"The idea is to _hold on_ Jazzie!" Sachara said sharply as she attempted to hoist her onto her back.

"Sorry..." Jazzie crossed her arms over her friend's chest, but continued to watch Munkustrap out of the corner of her eye.

He was too preoccupied to notice- pinching the bridge of his nose like she'd seen him do in the club. She found the action no less curious now than she had then, and wondered if he really was suffering from a headache. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be concentrating very hard on something; but when he opened them, his expression was even more grave. "Macavity is heading this way," he said. "We need to move!"

The very mention of the name surged a cascade of dread through Jazzie, spawning images of manic eyes and the sounds of laughter- deep, spine-chilling laughter! Bast forbid if that monster found them- out in the open and defenseless...

Munkustrap was in no fit state to fight. He and the other toms would be killed for sure- and she couldn't go back to that club. She'd rather the train flatten her than ever have to endure that place again. She didn't realise, but she'd started trembling afresh.

"Alright Jazz… he's not going to get us," Sachara quietly assured her. "I'll make sure of it, ok?"

Meanwhile, Plato was looking anxiously at Munkustrap. "Did you tell Misto...?" He began, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"No," said Munkustrap. "I'd rather tell everyone when we get there. Jenny and Jelly are waiting for us."

With as much haste as they could manage, the debilitated group set off, dragging their weary feet along the straight and busy road that they had charged across earlier; Admetus carrying his brother across his shoulders, stooping a little because of the weight, but fervidly declined any offer of help. "He's me brother," he kept repeating. "S'only right I carry 'im."

Lucitana and Norstara's paws were firmly locked together, while Sachara trudged behind them, holding under Jazzie's legs and supporting her friend on her back without too many complaints.

"Are you _sure_ you're ok?" Jazzie kept asking, after Sachara stopped to hoist her up for a third time. "I'm sure Munkustrap or Alonzo won't mind-"

"No no, I'm good!" Sachara insisted haughtily, although she sounded quite out of breath.

Jazzie's foot continued to throb, exhausting her so much that she gave up asking. She barely even registered where they were going. It wasn't a part of London she was familiar with. The buildings were of a similar architecture, but much less grande and weren't as densely packed as the place they had just come from. The road was lined with trees and had a much more relaxed, residential feel about it. There hadn't been as many trees where she'd lived before.

They crossed two bridges. One took them across a ribbon of black water, lined with sleepy canal boats, and another brought them back across the railway. Then they followed Munkustrap single file through the gap in a padlocked gate.

As soon as they were inside, two cats dressed in dark blue pinafores rushed out to meet them.

"Great Bast, thank goodness you're back!" One of them exclaimed. "What happened? Is everyone alright?"

She started to fuss over Alonzo in a very motherly way, and then turned to Munkustrap and stopped, her face showing a mixture of concern and shock, as if she'd been prepared for the sight of him, but found it no less disturbing. Jazzie saw she was an older cat, with soft white fur and ginger and black patches, and the other looked similar, except she was a little more stout and had additional tabby markings. Both were showing obvious signs of pregnancy, which the uniforms did little to disguise.

"What's the matter?" said the Calico, noticing the desolate expressions and lack of communication, and looked directly at Munkustrap for an answer. "Munk?"

Munkustrap looked straight at her. "George is dead."

For a moment, the Calico didn't seem to believe him. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. "H-how…?" She finally managed to croak.

"There was a struggle on our way out of the club," he said. "George got separated- we couldn't go back. He was injured, but somehow managed to escape-" Munkustrap's voice started to break "-he died next to the railway tracks."

The group parted and Admetus stepped forwards with his precious cargo. "I should take him to the morgue," he said.

"Yes-yes, do," the Calico stammered. "Either I or Jenny will join you in a moment."

As Admetus set off, she turned to Jazzie and the other queens. Sachara had placed Jazzie onto an upturned dustbin and was trying to rub the sensation back into her shoulders.

"It is wonderful to meet you all," the queen said kindly. "I am Jellylorum-"

"And I'm her sister, Jennyanydots," added the other.

"I'm sorry it's not a more joyful reception, but please know that you are all most welcome. I see one of you is hurt?"

Jazzie opened her mouth to reply, but Sachara spoke first. "She hurt her foot on the train-"

"Train-?" Jellylorum exclaimed.

"Everything will be explained later," Munkustrap interrupted, a little irritably. "But for now, we all need to rest."

"Of course." Jellylorum looked at Jazzie. "If you'd like to come to the infirmary… er...?"

"Jazzie," said Jazzie.

"Jazzie… my, what a pretty name! I'd recommend getting your foot looked at if you can't walk on it-"

"I think it would be best to get the others settled first," said Munkustrap, before Jazzie could answer. "If further treatment is needed, I'll bring her over myself." He looked at Jazzie. "Unless you'd rather go to the Infirmary?"

This was the first time he'd looked at her since the train line, and Jazzie hadn't expected it. She honestly didn't know _what_ she wanted. She was so tired and longed only to lie down on something warm and soft.

"Is your foot really troubling you?" He pushed.

"It hurts," Jazzie replied, after thinking about it for a moment. "But I am also dreadfully tired. I don't know what is best."

"I think we'll stick to the original plan," said Jellylorum, looking pointedly at Munkustrap. "You look like _you_ need seeing to _yourself."_

He started to deny it, "It's nothing- just a few minor scratches-"

"-Those wounds do NOT look minor, Munkustrap!" She snapped. "You and Jazzie will be accompanying me to the infirmary, at once!"

"I'll go and help Addy," said her sister, and she bustled off in the direction that Admetus had taken.

Munkustrap looked like he wanted to argue- and yet again, seemed to think better of it. "Alright- fine!" He rolled his eyes and turned to address Alonzo and Plato. "Take Lucitana, Sachara and Norstara to my den," he told them. "Wait for me there-"

"No, wait!" Sachara protested. "I'm going with Jazzie!"

The Maine Coon looked even less happy with that arrangement. "Well, you can if you _want…" _he said dubiously. "But there wouldn't be much point._"_

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Jazzie reasoned to her friend. "You don't have to come."

"I insist!" Sachara snapped, giving Munkustrap a suspicious glare.

She had clearly made up her mind, and no amount of coaxing from Jazzie or the others would persuade her otherwise.

In the end, Sachara got her way and Jazzie found herself hopping to the infirmary, using her and Jellylorum for support, while listening to Jellylorum's incessant chatter about the place they were winding their way through, seemingly as a means to fill the deadening silence.

What looked like a squalid and dirty old junkyard was known as Jellicle Manor, and was the home of a tribe of cats known as The Jellicles. None of this made any sense to Jazzie, of course. All she saw were piles of rusted car parts, stacks of tyres, bundles of wire in every size and colour imaginable (which was limited to the colours black, blue, brown and yellow for her, seeing as cats cannot see red or green) and other objects that she couldn't identify. It was a far cry from the opulence of her previous home, but she smiled politely, figuring she would grow accustomed to it.

Sachara looked suitably unimpressed, but luckily, Jellylorum was far too busy telling them about the Jellicle Ball to notice.

"Whatever _that_ is," Jazzie thought, and realised she didn't even know what a _Jellicle cat_ was.

She really wanted to ask, but Jellylorum had already moved onto Jellicle Moons and Jellicle Choices and it seemed rude to interrupt, even if it _was_ making her head spin. She looked around for Munkustrap, but he had walked some way in front.

He clearly wanted to be left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: what's a jellicle cat and what the hell is Munkustrap drinking?


	4. Quantum's Loft

Rain tapped on the window, running down the pane like tear tracks. It was the closest Munkustrap would ever get to crying; a perfect compliment to the dismal mood that seemed to have settled over everything.

As Protector of the Jellicles, it was Munkustrap's job to provide reassurance, maintain the peace and keep residents of the yard safe. Everything about it meant making the right decisions and acting on them quickly. Sometimes, those decisions were terrible things to have to make.

George had known what the risks were. In spite of them, he had readily joined the brigade- but the fact still remained, regardless of reason, that his leader had violated the most important rule of comradeship: never leave a fellow behind.

Munkustrap knew that if he'd gone back for George, there would have been more fatalities- his own son could have been among them- and he'd have broken his silent promise to Jazzie. That was his new task now. To keep Macavity from getting his filthy degenerate paws on her, and to make sure George hadn't died in vain.

Keeping busy would be the only thing to assuage his grief, but he couldn't do that when he was sitting on an examination table, holding an ice pack to his cheek, suppressing an insatiable urge to tear at the walls.

This was probably the worst part of getting injured. The waiting. Especially when there were so many important things to do. His mind raced through all the proceedings. George would need a funeral. His family would have to be informed. A standard letter to his humans explaining that their beloved pet had been found dead by the side of a road. Of course, they'd buy it; no questions would be asked and the world would keep turning on its merry axis.

Muffled voices interrupted his thoughts- reminding him he still had his ear plugs in. He swiftly removed them and was greeted with a familiar cacophony of sounds. Machine beeps, creaky trolleys, squeaky doors, Jellylorum's dulcet tones... Life for a cat was never quiet.

For something to do, he eavesdropped on the conversation in the next cubicle, focusing on one voice in particular. Just the sound of her accent was enough to set his pulse racing.

"The x-ray didn't show any obvious breaks," Jellylorum was saying. "However, I did find a little bit of swelling. What I'm going to do is strap it up, give you some painkillers and some crutches to walk on. I'm guessing you're familiar with RICE? Rest, ice, compression, elevation...? Oh marvelous... Do that for at least a week and your foot should start to feel better. If not, come back and see me... oh, and take care not to exert yourself too soon after it heals or you could make it worse… ok, dear?"

"Yes," Jazzie answered. "Thank you, Madam."

Munkustrap smiled to himself; in a funny way, almost grateful for the train nearly killing them both. It wouldn't have been the worst way to go, he rationalised. Her fur had been damp and cold to the touch, but his arms ached for the angular curve of her body and how, for a moment, it had just been the two of them... together at last. Offering to carry her had been a step too far though- he'd known that as soon as Alonzo had intervened. Granted, he'd have carried her to the ends of the Earth if she'd asked him to, but her friend Sachara seemed to have other ideas...

"Sorry to keep you waiting, dear."

He looked up to see Jennyanydots wheeling in a trolley. "Admetus...?" He started to ask, somewhat listlessly.

"Left him in the morgue," she replied, filling up a cup with water and handing it to him. "Said he might be there for some time… told him to leave when he's..." Her professional facade crumbled as she whipped a lace handkerchief out of her uniform pocket. "... It's just… just... such a shock…" She dabbed her eyes... "Keep thinking he'll walk in any minute with that smile of his and it'll all have been a horrible dream... can't imagine how awful his last moments must have been…"

Munkustrap barely heard her. It was all he could do to keep his own tears inside, adding to the ball of anger that swirled in his gut like a sleeping volcano. He sipped the water painfully, while she got to work washing her paws, putting on a pince nez, face mask and gloves, then getting him to lie back on the table.

"I'll try not to take off too much, dear," she said regretfully, as she started trimming away his fur, just enough to expose the wound. "Lucky your skin's the same colour… no one should notice…"

"Needed a trim anyway," he said dryly, looking up at the ceiling as she took some gauze and gently cleaned away the blood.

"Hmm. How did you say you did this?"- Munk rolled his eyes "-Doesn't look like it was done by claws…"

"...A knife," he muttered. "Sickle shaped."

"Don't know why you'd want to go playing with one of those…" she mumbled disapprovingly. "Are you experiencing any chest pain or difficulty breathing?"

"No."

"Does it hurt when I press here?"

"Uh! Yes!" He cried. She could have warned him she was going to do that!

"... Good good… it hasn't penetrated into your lungs- that was what I was worried about- although a millimetre or so more and I'd be telling you a very different story. From what Addy was telling me, it's any wonder you escaped without anything more serious..."

"Almost didn't…" He swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat, warning himself not to say anymore.

"Nice cut on your eyebrow there..." Jenny peered through her lenses. "That'll need stitches. The one on your chest, I think… yes, that'll need stitches too. Oh, and you've got one on the back of your leg. Did you know?"

Munkustrap lifted his head and looked down. For the first time, he noticed a sickle-shaped cut, smiling up at him through tufts of dark fur, almost in mockery. That was going to make dancing difficult.

"...So... what I think would be best is to get you in the shower..." Jenny was saying busily "...Jazzie's in there with Sachara and Jelly... should be out in... oh yes- there we are..."

Munkustrap sat up just in time to see Jazzie hobble past the gap in the curtains- fur spiky and body wrapped in a towel- being helped by her ever attentive Korat friend. She caught his eye and smiled shyly, before disappearing from view.

"Your turn, dear," said Jenny, taking the cup from him and pushing him towards the bathroom. "I trust you can wash yourself- or do you need me to come in with you?"

His mind was suddenly transported back to a night he had spent with Jennyanydots almost three months ago. By the look on her face, she hadn't forgotten it either, and no wonder. She had a constant reminder. "I'm sure I can manage," he replied with the vaguest hint of a smirk.

But as soon as he shut the door, his smile disintegrated with the thought that new life was about to come to the Manor- and George wouldn't be there to see it.

By the time Munkustrap, Jazzie and Sachara left the Infirmary, it was getting towards dawn. Jazzie's fur had been washed, dried and brushed to Jellylorum's exacting standards, and Munkustrap's fur was so fluffy that bits of it were refusing to lie flat. His wounds had been cleaned, stitched and dressed, with strict instructions to keep them dry. Yet, even after he deemed himself fit to go, Jenny and Jelly continued to delay matters, wanting to give him one last check up, urging him to stay and rest in the infirmary so that they could "put him under observation."

"Put me under house arrest, more like!" He complained.

"But Addy said you were _choked-"_

"Only mildly. Look- there's no point in me staying here. If I keel over, you'll be the first to know."

They only let him go after he pointed out that it would be impossible for him to rest with them continually fussing over him, and besides, he needed to speak to the newcomers, who were still waiting in his den and were probably wondering why it was taking them so long.

As he headed across the yard, Jazzie hopped along on her crutches, keeping up as best she could. She'd been given an ice pack, which Munkustrap insisted on carrying, much to Sachara's annoyance he was pleased to see. It was early days, but he had a feeling Sachara wasn't going to grow on him any time soon.

"Where are we going?" Jazzie asked, sounding tired. It was clear she wouldn't have minded staying where she was.

"You can rest soon," he assured her. "You're going to stay in my den temporarily, for it is the safest place- and I expect you have a few questions that need answering?"

"More than a few..." Sachara muttered.

"...Not that we're not _grateful,"_ Jazzie quickly added, shooting a dark look at her friend as if to say: "Why are you being so rude?"

"Everything will be explained when we get there," Munkustrap replied, quite happy to ignore Sachara. "Not going too fast am I?"

"No… but… is it far?"

"No, not far." He led them through a maze of junk piles, walking a well trodden path known only to Jellicle residents, but noticed that Jazzie was making painfully slow progress. "Here." He took one of her crutches and offered her his paw, only to have it batted away.

"I'll do that, if you don't mind!" Sachara hissed, and proceeded to help Jazzie, muttering under her breath, "He _lives_ here? In this _dump?"_

"I suppose you could call 'this dump' my first home," said Munkustrap, keeping his manner pleasant.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I have a human home as well as this one. It's an interesting juggling act, but the humans work long hours and don't pay much attention to my comings and goings, which suits me. Do you have one?"

Sachara huffed. "We _did."_

"Sachara used to live and work at The Samaritan..." Jazzie said in an overly bright tone, clearly embarrassed by her friend's behaviour, but Munkustrap smiled, showing her it was alright.

"How about you?"

Her smile wavered. "University College London," she replied, looking away.

He already knew that of course, but couldn't let her know. It would have made things very awkward. "The Cruciform Building?" He said, pretending to look surprised. "Golly, that _is_ grand. I apologise if this feels like a disappointment…"

"Oh, no... no…" she said hurriedly. "That's not what I was thinking at all!" Her tail curled. It was the cat equivalent of blushing and he felt a giant leap in his chest for some reason. She was trying to say she wasn't sure about it in the nicest possible way.

"It's the best way to keep ourselves hidden," he explained. "We wouldn't want humans to find out about us."

She looked puzzled. "But… don't humans own this place?"

He shook his head. "Maybe once, long ago, but no more. It is sometimes known as the place of forgotten things. Everything you see is something that has been discarded or lost. Unloved; rather like ourselves."

She clearly didn't understand, so he continued:

"Long ago, we lived alongside humans… in a land that was lush and green, but was later swallowed up by burning sand. Existing in our true form, we were worshipped as Gods and didn't have to hide in the shadows. Then, the invaders came. They persecuted the people, sent Jellicles into hiding. From that moment on, cats were destined to live as lowly rat catchers, hidden in darkness; those with black fur deemed bad luck and burnt with owners who were accused of being witches. Some day, when Humankind has learnt the value of tolerance, perhaps we will be allowed to live as we once did. But until then, we are content to remain mysterious."

Looking fascinated, Jazzie gazed around at the junk piles as though seeing them for the first time. She still wasn't sure, but at least she was willing to stare past the ugliness and see the stories that lay hidden within every piece of junk.

Sachara merely sneered. "Did your humans give you that dog collar so that they could take you for walks?"

He blinked. "Er… no. This was passed to me from my predecessor."

"Where's _he?"_

He gritted his teeth. Her snide questions were beginning to grate on him and it was getting harder to hide, especially with talk of his old mentor. "He's dead," he replied, and changed the subject before either queen could comment. "Right, here we are."

In front of them lay a huge mound of scrap wood and broken furniture, and both queens suddenly looked as though their hopes had been dashed upon it. "Is this... _it?"_ Gulped Jazzie.

Munkustrap hid a smirk. "No. _That's_ it."

He pointed to a cabin high above, proudly constructed out of similar materials, with a corrugated iron roof and a tin bucket for a chimney. It had been his home for almost three and half years.

Jazzie looked nervous. "H-how do I get up?"

"Well... usually I'd climb-" he watched her expression turn to one of dismay- "but today, we'll take the lift."

He uncurled a rope from its cleet, gave it a tug, then slowly let go. There was a creaking noise and the squeak of pulleys, and slowly, a wooden lift descended, stopping just shy of the ground- to Jazzie's obvious relief.

Sachara, who looked like she'd just swallowed a lemon, decided she'd been quiet for long enough. "If you can climb up there, why do you have a lift?"

"For my father when he visits. He's a little unsteady these days."

They stepped onto the rickety contraption and the queens held onto it's wooden railings. Munkustrap pulled on the rope, and up they went, sailing up the wall of junk, alighting on a wooden veranda.

"Welcome to Quantum's Loft," he announced- "Named after the chap who built it," he quickly explained when they fixed him with questioning looks, and waited patiently while they took in the sight of his humble dwelling.

Jazzie looked particularly enamored with the decorations on the outside wall. Odds and ends embedded in the plaster that had been there… well, since it had been built, and he didn't know how long ago _that_ was. He only knew _who_ had built it. A historical Protector known as Quantum Haletynon.

He watched Jazzie as she traced her paw over the patterns on the teapot… finding something that caught her attention. A trinket of gold, set with a stone of the deepest blue that had an uncanny resemblance to a cat's eye, staring out at her from its socket in the wall. "What's this?" She asked.

"It's an ancient artifact, known as the Eye of Bastet. Able to see evil in the hearts of others and impart that ability to its wearer. It remains invisible to those of malicious intent and thus, it cannot be stolen. It protects this building."

"Does it work?" Sachara was looking deeply skeptical.

"One can assume that it does. To my knowledge, no evil has ever found this place." He opened the door and ushered them inside.

It was a rather subdued atmosphere that greeted them. Alonzo and Plato were seated at an oak table, drinking something that didn't look like water and eating spam sandwiches. Norstara and Lucitana were quietly nibbling and sipping Koumis beside them. While everyone offered weak smiles as a way of saying "What took you so long?" a tuxedo cat's head remained buried in his paws. Mistoffelees had clearly been told the news.

In front of him sat a crystal ball and the stove in the corner was gently flickering. The room was silent, except for a droning voice coming from a wind-up radio at his elbow.

'_...In other news: an occurrence of the whiskery kind took place in Camden early this morning. Police were called to Sophisticat's Gentlemen's Club at ten past midnight, to find the basement frequented with around fifty cats. The owner was arrested on suspicion of animal cruelty, but was released pending further investigation. Now for the weather… after a wet start, the skies will clear to leave a largely dry day with patchy cloud and sunny spells… temperature sixteen degrees, that's sixty point eight degrees fahrenheit. That's all for this morning's broadcast… our next is at 7…'_

Switching off the radio, Munkustrap pulled out a seat next to Mistoffelees and offered it to Jazzie. Sachara pulled one out for herself.

"You get sorted?" Plato asked Munk as he took a seat at the head of the table, sliding over a bottle and a glass.

"Yeah..." Munk uncorked the bottle and poured himself a generous measure. "No lasting damage." His wounds were starting to hurt, but he took no notice.

"And Miss Jazzie?"

"A mild sprain," said Jazzie, nodding to her iced foot which was propped in Sachara's lap. "Forty eight hours rest; a week on crutches."

"You may rest up here as long as you need to," said Munkustrap kindly. "Your friends are welcome too."

Jazzie smiled. "That's very generous- but... won't _he_ come looking for us?"

"I assume you mean Macavity?" Munkustrap felt Misto flinch beside him, and Jazzie's friends cast nervous glances at the door, which looked as though it would blow away in a stiff breeze.

"He won't find you as long as you stay within this den," he assured them. "Like I explained outside, no evil can detect it. Macavity would have to become a Buddhist Monk to even get within a whisker- not that I can see that happening, but one never holds out hope." He cleared his throat. "Right then, before we start, anyone for tea? We also have Koumis and, er… whatever this is..." Looking at the bottle he'd just poured out of, he realised it had a cobra floating it, as well as a few other things that he couldn't identify.

"Um… tea, thank you," said Jazzie, eyeing the bottle with trepidation.

Sachara turned her head away and said nothing, which Munkustrap took to mean no.

"Misto, make some more tea please, there's a good lad."

The black and white tuxedo didn't respond.

Sighing, Munkustrap was about to go and make it himself, when the young tom let out a wail. "It's all my fault! I couldn't get him out!"

Having barely risen, Munkustrap placed a paw on his shoulder. "Misto... no one blames you," he said gently. "George certainly wouldn't…"

Misto snapped his head up, his eyes full of tears. "Why didn't you go back for him?" He cried angrily. "Why did you leave him?!"

As blue electricity crackled around Misto's white gloved paws, Plato quietly spoke up. "Misto, we already explained. We'd have all been goners. Munkustrap did the right thing- not even George would dispute that. Munkustrap got the rest of us out. Bast- you should've seen him in that cage…!" Seemingly embarrassed by his outburst, he trailed off and took a large bite out of his sandwich.

"I didn't mean to blame you," Misto said to Munkustrap. "But if I'd only been there-"

"We'd have a whole host of other problems. The truth is, neither I nor Jazzie would be alive if it wasn't for him. We cannot thank him enough. Here… get this down you." Munkustrap poured everyone a small measure of the snake wine and pushed a glass towards Misto. While the others collected theirs, he raised his own. "To George Abagundi Brownstripe. Bravest cat I ever knew."

"To George." Glasses clinked together and everyone drank, grimacing and shuddering simultaneously.

"To George…" Misto took the smallest sip, gagged and politely pushed his glass away.

The liquid had a flavour akin to petroleum spirit and burned the back of Munkustrap's throat as it went down. He didn't usually drink, seeing as a paralytic protector wouldn't be much use to anyone, but right now, he was feeling the need for something medicinal that didn't involve needles and pills. Once it had finished burning his esophagus, it sat like a firestorm inside his belly and all of a sudden, his body didn't ache nearly so much. "I have to commend whoever got this out without my permission," he remarked, finally taking the time to look at the label, which he couldn't read because it was in Vietnamese.

"I did," said Alonzo sheepishly. "Got bored so I decided to see what you had. Looked like it had been there awhile. Me and Plato were trying to figure out what that white thing was. Plato thinks it's a tiger's penis."

"Go away?!" Spluttered Lucitana. "Let us see!"

As the queens took turns to peer into the clear bottle, scrutinizing the contents as though it were a taxidermy exhibit, Norstara quietly whispered, "That snake looks alive!"

"Yeah," agreed Lucitana. "It sure looks as if it's about to bite you. As for that white thing… I don't even know what to call it."

"It's definitely… uh... feline," remarked Jazzie, passing the bottle back to Munkustrap. "Is this legal?"

"It smells disgusting!" Sniffed Sachara.

"It was a gift from my brother Rum Tum Tugger," said Munkustrap. "Gave it to me as a joke when I got promoted. I think he just wanted to get me into trouble, to be honest."

"Who's gonna tell him, anyway?" Plato piped up, having run out of sandwiches.

"Oh shit!" Munkustrap groaned. "I suppose it'll have to be me."

Rum Tum Tugger was younger than Munkustrap by approximately half an hour and had been especially close to George… almost more than Munkustrap himself. Munkustrap wasn't sure how he was going to take the bad news, but he was pretty certain he didn't want to be there when he did.

"I'll do it," Misto volunteered. "It'll be better coming from me. Bombi said she would, but-"

Munk looked at him sharply. "You told Bombi?"

"Sorry…" Misto squeaked. "You know what she's like. She's demanding to see you."

"Is she alright?"

"She's... upset. I said you were busy, but..."

"No no," said Munk, swallowing. "I'll… er... swing by later. She'll be wanting her money." He drained his glass, considered pouring himself some more, and then did. It wasn't bad once it had burned off all your taste buds.

"You gonna be able to dance?" Wondered Misto, looking down at his bandaged leg.

"Not if I keep drinking this stuff," Munkustrap growled.

"Dance at what?" Jazzie suddenly asked. "And… er… I don't suppose I could have that tea?"

"Oh yeah, sorry..." Munk got up, berating himself for forgetting. "Do you take it with milk?"

"Yes please."

"Anyone else while I'm up?" He asked as he tried not to limp to the stove.

"No thanks," came the collective answer.

"Nah we're good, cheers," said Alonzo. "Although, some more Spam sandwiches wouldn't go amiss."

Munkustrap directed his gaze at the worktop. "Bread's there. Spam's in the larder." He was met with a huff. Well, what did the lazy youth take him for? A domestic servant?

After making Jazzie's tea and serving it, Munk sat back down, ignoring the yelp that came from the larder. Alonzo had dropped a can on his foot by the sound of things.

"So? You wanted to know about dancing?" He said, carrying on from the previous conversation.

Jazzie took a careful sip and nodded. "Yes. Is it something Jellicles like to do?"

He smiled slightly. "One of the many."

"What kind?" She asked, looking intrigued.

"All kinds! Ballet, jig, cancan, gavotte… you name it, we can probably do it!"

"Hold on a minute… _Ballet?"_ From the look on her face, it was clear she couldn't see Munkustrap as being much of a dancer- much less a _danseur._

"Oh yes," he said, hoping he'd get the chance to prove her wrong. "We practice all year- from the day we're born practically- getting ready for the penultimate event."

"Penultimate event?"

"The Ball," said Plato with a sigh. "Georgey was so looking forward to it."

"Jellylorum mentioned something about a Jellicle Ball," Jazzie said thoughtfully. "Can you tell me what it is?"

Munkustrap chuckled. "You know what a _ball_ is, surely?"

"Yes. But, what's a _Jellicle?"_

"What's a _Jellicle?" _Exclaimed Alonzo, plonking a plate of sandwiches in their midst. "That's like asking "what is a cat?" Jellicles are what we are."

He took a large bite out of his sandwich, looking pleased with himself, but the queens still looked confused.

"We?" Repeated Jazzie.

"You," said Munkustrap. "Lucitana, Norstara, Sachara… mog who lives down the street."

She shook her head. "I still don't understand."

"I shall attempt to explain in a moment, but first, I think formal introductions are in order, so we're up to date on who everyone is."

Everyone agreed.

"I'll start and then we'll go around clockwise." He cleared his throat. "My name is Lysander Munkustrap Moonsilver, although most call me Munk, which is... tolerable. I am the son of Old Deuteronomy and I've been a Protector for nearly three and a half years..."

"You're not serious?" Gasped Lucitana. "THE Old Deuteronomy? Like from the poem?"

Munkustrap smiled as she quietly sang the rhyme that was familiar with every Jellicle, both young and old. "You know it?"

_…"My mind maybe wondering, but I confess, I believe it is Old Deuteronomy… _Oh aie! My mother used to sing it to us when I was a wee kit. Never imagined he was _real._ Sorry- carry on!" She looked at Mistoffelees apologetically.

"I'm Munk's son and my name is Quaxo Mistoffelees Moonsilver," said the tuxedo with a nod. "I'm a magician and inventor, and as you may have guessed, they all call me Misto. I was the one who almost blinded you all earlier- sorry about that." He looked at Jazzie.

"Claudette Jazzimoré LeSoigneur," she said. "I prefer to be called Jazzie and I'm a healer. I used to live in Paris and came to London to work at UCL, before..." She looked down, and Sachara quickly took over.

"Hortensia Sachara Khunrayab. Also a healer. Sach is fine."

And so it carried on like this all around the table:

"Rhiannon Lucitana Emeraldfire," said the Abyssinian in soft Irish tones. "Although Luci is totally fine. I'm a healer and midwife from Galway originally… I came to London for work. The rest you know."

"Layla Norstara Khonsu," said the Egyptian Mau sitting next to her. "You can call me Star. I was born in Alexandria, Egypt. I'm a healer and counsellor, and I too was lured to London with the promise of work. It wasn't quite what I expected."

Then it was the turn of the Turkish Van. "Plato Recaltrek Raindancer, but me mates call me Plato so…" He shrugged. "I'm a guardian by the way."

"Alonzo Jubalong Patchwork, Chief Guardian of the Manor," Alonzo stated proudly. "Alonzo seems to be the name that stuck, so that's what you call me. I'm also Munk's son, only I've got a different mum to Misto. In fact, you met her earlier- she's the one called Jellylorum. The other guy who's George's brother, that's Admetus Elphador Brownstripe- I expect he's still in the morgue." He looked at Munkustrap. "Are the queens familiar with _why_ we have so many names?"

"I've always wondered about that," said Jazzie. "My humans gave me my first name and my mother gave me my second. I once asked her about my third name, and she said it was passed to me from my father."

"She was quite right," Munkustrap said with a nod. "All Jellicles must have three different names, although some have more, and I'll get to that in a moment. The first, as you mentioned, is an everyday name that the humans might give, or a general street name if one does not have humans. The second is a name given by the mother and that never belongs to more than one cat, although which name a cat prefers to be known by is entirely up to them. The third is the name that is inherited from our father and passed to our children. When a tom becomes a sire, he takes on a new name and passes that on to his kittens, but may decide to keep his old name if he so chooses. A queen will keep hers for life."

"What's the reason for that?" Sachara inquired, with a slight air of disdain.

"That's how it's always been done," Munkustrap replied.

"But what exactly do you mean by always?" She pressed impatiently.

"It's a tradition that's been going a long time."

She looked skeptical, but what exactly did she want? Dates and figures? "Fathers have been passing their names to their kittens ever since Jellicles first appeared," Munkustrap explained. "If you want to know when that was, there is only one cat who knows. Deuteronomy Drisidian Rumblepad- Old Deuteronomy to all of us- the oldest and wisest cat ever known. Not only is he my father, he is also our leader."

Sachara huffed. "That's all very well... but you still haven't explained to us what a Jellicle cat is."

"Surely you can explain it yourself?"

Sachara raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you've quite-"

"Did you not think it extraordinary that you are healers, and that you have three names? How many cat healers do you know that have three names?"

Lucitana spoke up. "I never really thought about it. Not until I met Jazzie, Star and Sach, and realised they were the same as us. I think t'was destiny brought us together, you know?"

Munkustrap nodded and considered his next words carefully, for he didn't fully agree with her on the destiny part.

"There is certainly a reason _why_ you were drawn to one another," he said slowly. "Just as the average mog shuns the company of his own kind, the Jellicle spends time contemplating himself and yearns to seek others who are like him. Basically, a Jellicle is a cat who has remembered who he or she is.

"As for being thrown together, I'm afraid that was the work of Macavity. You are all young, beautiful and talented. All the things that Macavity values. His greed clouds his reasoning. He sees nothing wrong with squandering your talents, keeping them from those who need it most in order to fuel his own desires."

"How do you know so much about him?" Jazzie asked curiously.

Munkustrap took a long breath before answering. It was bound to come up eventually. "He's my other brother."

As expected, the queens stared at him with wide-eyed horror, and for once he was grateful to have Alonzo butt in.

"Misto, Dad and I are related to a monster. So what?" The black and white tom folded his arms and glared defiantly at the queens, who all wore shocked faces. "Most cats have some sort of grievance with Macavity. He's a power hungry maniac who doesn't care who he chucks aside; doesn't matter if it's family or anyone; young, old; male, female. Unless you're of use to him, you're little more than grass fertilizer. I'm the only survivor of my litter thanks to that ratbag!"

"He's also extremely powerful," Misto added. "We think he's controlling the human government somehow and that's why he never gets caught. We have no evidence to prove it, of course. He never leaves any trace."

Sachara spoke next. "If he's so dangerous to you, why did you rescue us? And how did you know where to find us?" She was looking at Mistoffelees, but it was Munkustrap who answered.

"With you being famous throughout London, news of your capture travelled very fast. A few of your regulars turned up looking for you, begging for my help, which I offered right away. It took me a while to find you, but the task was made easier by Macavity. He couldn't help flaunting you, could he?

"As to the reason why we undertook such a dangerous mission, I shall tell you now. We are facing a crisis. A wave of catastrophes has swept our kind: Epidemics, road accidents, miscarriages and of course, the Dust Bucket himself. The infirmary was relatively quiet tonight, but it can get extremely busy, and the nurses are struggling. We recently lost our senior doctor. Jellylorum and Jennyanydots aren't exactly young themselves, plus they're pregnant; the strain is beginning to show. We have more orphaned kittens than ever before and not enough staff to care for them. It is a travesty that your skills were being wasted on Macavity when you could have been serving an entire community."

"So… that's what you want, is it?" Queried Lucitana. "Us to work for you?"

"You said yourself you came to London for work," Munkustrap reasoned. "There are paid positions waiting to be filled. You'd get a yearly salary, plus all your meals paid for and a place to live at a reduced rate. However, the decision to take the offer is entirely up to you. It would mean leaving your human homes and I understand if that is not acceptable to you. Should you wish to return to them, you are welcome to do so."

Munkustrap's gaze collided with Jazzie's. She quickly looked away, but not before he'd seen the strange look on her face. Could she be remembering the kindly tom she'd crashed into on University Street? Or was she trying to decide how much he resembled the cat who spread terror like a plague and haunted the nightmares of every kitten in London?

The urge to reach out and prove that the former was true was as excruciating as his bruises and cuts, yet he kept his paw wrapped firmly around his glass. Did she have any idea how badly he wanted to hold her? To make everyone else in the room disappear and it be just her and him?

He hated lying to her. It was another reality of being a Protector. Harbouring secrets that no one else could know. His comrades followed his orders (usually) without question, but they didn't have all the details, and they didn't know how Munkustrap had _really_ found Jazzie.

He knew why she hadn't divulged details of her capture. Of all of them, her story was the most tragic.


End file.
